


The Letter

by Rulerofthefakeempire



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Canon, Fluff, Hurt and comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 03:54:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5402093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rulerofthefakeempire/pseuds/Rulerofthefakeempire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I don’t know how long it has been since you’re death or the battle, times tends to be a fickle thing in my neck of the woods, you understand. I don’t want you to think that that means I do not think of you, I am always thinking of you. There is no morning when I do not wake in my comfortable sheets and little home without your name on my lips and your face behind my eyelids. You are always making me strong even when I can barely move.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Letter

Dear Thorin,

 

Thorin Oakensheild.

 

A boy has come to me Thorin, he is mine to look after, and I have received him as my own. He is my own. His name is Frodo, and he is small, and tousle-haired, and much like me when I was a boy. And he is nothing like you. But I like to think that he came of you, and he is safe because you once existed.

I would have never taken him without you, my friend; I would never have that sort of bravery. But you make me brave you will always make me brave, brave like I was then.

 

I don’t know how long it has been since you’re death or the battle, times tends to be a fickle thing in my neck of the woods, you understand. I don’t want you to think that that means I do not think of you, I am always thinking of you. There is no morning when I do not wake in my comfortable sheets and little home without your name on my lips and your face behind my eyelids. You are always making me strong even when I can barely move.

 

Our tree has grown up good and strong Thorin. It sits in my back garden, good and firm, it’s roots sunk down into my earth. I suspect that by the time that it is fully-grown I will be with you, in whatever realm you now inhabit. I will come and visit you then. I think of you when ever I see it, and I sit under it for morning tea.

 

The eagles come by every year, when they travel for the warmer winters, I used to fear them, but they remember me and I feed them meat from the butcher and berries from my garden, and I untangle the twigs and leaves from their feathers and I believe that they have become quite fond of me, much the same way that you did.

 

I also, a few months ago, received a visit from that elven king, Thraduil, the one you didn’t like. He was only passing through, stopped for tea, sneered at things, and then he left, going towards the north to make some peace or make some war. I do not remember. His son wasn’t with him, unfortunately. He didn’t speak of it. He was instead traveling with, beside a large legion that I offered bread and tea and cheese, the man of Laketown, Bard, and his three children. They were nice; they have grown strong in their alliance with the king’s woods. I think they suit each other quite well.

 

I… I have not visited you’re grave Thorin, and for that I am very sorry. But there is the boy, and children are to be looked after, and I wouldn’t be able to look after him if I had to see that, see your name scrawled into stone or a statue of you’re perfect likeness standing brave, and not dying in my arms like I sometimes remember you to be. You cannot look after a child if you weep like I would.

 

So I will not go, and I will not go and visit you or the others, I will stay here, and watch our tree grow until I am to join you wherever you happen to be. I hope that you will still be waiting for me. I would like that.

 

Tomorrow a peddler will come throw the town and I will give him this, and request that he give it to you, and I will tell him a very heartbreaking story about you being the father of my sister’s child, whom I have taken in as my own and it is a letter from him to his father. And I’m sure that it will change hands many times, but I am certain it will get to you somehow, and if it doesn’t, I’m sure you’ll see the point.

 

It is unclear why I am writing this, considering that your not my boy’s father and this is not he writing this. Perhaps I miss you especially today. Perhaps I miss you especially all days. It doesn’t matter. I miss you. And I wish we had had more time together.

 

I wish things could have been different.

 

Until we meet again,

Your burglar,

Bilbo

 

 


End file.
